Facets
by thisisnotmybeautifulhouse
Summary: This is a place for all the pieces I will write in response to the prompts over at Camelot Drabble. For more responses to these weekly prompts, go check it out - there are plenty of people contributing their brilliance.
1. Let My Death Bring them to their Knees

White-hot energy assaults her from all sides, the Old Religion made manifest in one man determined to protect the one he considers son. It burns her everywhere it touches, searing especially the exposed skin of her hands, face, and neck.

In the months after the young Pendgragon scion defeats her sister, Morgause learns to live her life with her failure displayed for the world.

Disgraced, she plans one final act of defiance against the ancient powers of this world and the next.

On Samhain, she gazes one last time into a mirror she brought buried beneath the layers of her skirt, her marred skin strengthening her resolve.

She puts the mirror away and turns to Morgana. "Come, Sister. There is work to be done."

**Every week, Camelot_Drabble has a new prompt. This week, the prompt was 'Skin.' The next chapter is also a response to this first prompt.  
**


	2. I Am Become Death

Every night, she sheds her own form for one from some devil's phantasmagoric fantasies.

Every day, she covets the silky smoothness of her complexion, and desires nothing more than to bask in its pristine innocence always.

Over time, she believes her jealousy of those not plagued by her wretched affliction, those her demonic form stalks in the shadows, seeps through and twists what once was a hunt into a malicious mawling.

Sniffing delicately, her enhanced senses detect the arrival of night, and while one part of her, the sane, compassionate part, recoils in fear and revulsion, the other coils, ready to spring, to slice, to shred.

If she cannot hold onto her beauty, then neither can they.

_Snap, scream, snarl._

The moon bids her good hunting.

Gladly, she hastens to oblige.

**I figured out (with the help of my friendly neighborhood search engine) where I first heard the quote the title comes from. In an episode of _Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles_, Sarah quotes J. Robert Oppenheimer, who said, "Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds," andwas actually quoting the Bhagavad-Gita.**

**The whole thing as a bit meta, isn't it?**


	3. Monster

Merlin has never been vain. Life in a little village like Ealdor would never have allowed it - the only time the people of his village neared anything like a reflective surface large enough to reveal one's visage was when they went to bathe down in the creek that ran through the surrounding verdancy.

It isn't until he arrives in Camelot that he realizes there are some people who care more about the beauty of their appearance than the beauty of their hearts, their souls. He thinks of dear, ridiculous Arthur, who only worries over his looks when Guinevere is in evidence, and then he thinks of Morgana, until the past few years almost always dressed in enough finery that her clothes alone could feed a peasant family for a year, and the jewels woven through her hair, her baubles, her fabrics.

Until this moment, standing before the mirror in Morgana's old room, he has never noticed some of that self-awareness seeping in, a silent, slow poison.

He did not come here for this - originally he came here to avoid being coerced into spending the evening in the tavern with the knights, his inclination for revelry curbed by Arthur's poorly concealed look of disapproval. He will never be able to clear his name in regard to all those 'nights in the tavern,' unless he reveals his powers, an eventuality that fades faster and further by the day. He brought Arthur's armor along, planning to take care of his chores for the next day in order to convince himself that he is not, in fact, hiding, but attempting to be productive instead. Then, his eyes were drawn to the smooth expanse of Morgana's old vanity - and what an apt name that is. Driven by some unknown desire, he shed his tunic and stood in the pale light of stars innumerable and the half-moon, scars thrown in silvery relief.

Here, he took Nimue's fury full on, the wheel of fire-raised flesh only slightly discolored so many years after the fact. Here, a serket pierced him while he knelt alone and friendless in the forest of Escetir. Here, he felt the chafe of manacles, held at Morgana's mercy and by his own fear in her little hovel. He has no care to see it, but were he to locate another, smaller mirror, he might be able to see the mark she doomed him to bear when she set him against his friend and master unwilling.

These are not the worst of his scars, he knows. The deepest, the ugliest, are the ones the rest of the world will never see, the ones left behind by actions taken and deferred, by choices and chances, uncertain steps and sudden plunges.

_"I'm not a monster, am I?"_

"Don't ever think that."

He does now, though. How can he not?

_"...if you had...you know...the choice, what would you do? If you had the power of life and death over Uther, would you kill him? For what he did?"_

"Then she'll die with me. I don't want this any more than you, but you give me no choice. Stop the knights and you can save her."

"I had to stop the future. I had to stop Morgana killing Uther. I didn't mean to do it like this."

"How you've managed to deceive him. I am impressed, Merlin. Perhaps we're more alike than you think."

In trying to preserve the future, the bright morning Kilgharrah promised would fall upon all of Albion with Arthur's ascent to the throne, Merlin has become the very thing he once feared, his scars, both internal and external, an unholy map of his transgressions.

**Notes:**

Episodes quoted: _The Dragon's Call, To Kill the King, The Fires of Idirsholas, The Crystal Cave, The Sword in the Stone: Part II_

_Written for the prompt "Scars," for week three of Camelot_Drabble.  
_


	4. Lay Your Burden Down

Walking with Arthur and his dearest friends among the knights, Merlin thinks about what death will mean. It will be so easy in some ways, and so impossible in others.

For the entirety of his brief and yet interminable journey into becoming a man, he has given all of himself to saving Arthur, to protecting Albion's best chance. How beautiful would it be to lay down his burden, to put his toils away?

_What do we know about the other side, really? Surely these tormented shades cannot be all that there is_.

He embraces and recoils from the knowledge that he will discover soon after.

Meeting the eyes of the Cailleach, he readies himself for the ultimate sacrifice, the final surrender.

**Notes: The prompt for this week over on Camelot_Drabble was, "Surrender." I had a conversation not too long ago with jelazakazone about how Merlin's magic refuses to allow him to die for anyone but Arthur, and it came back to me, so I wrote this. The title comes from the hymn _Here in This Place_.**


	5. I will still be around

**The title for this comes from Lifehouse's By Your Side. Written for the prompt of 'Crown,' over on Camelot_Drabble.  
**

Hearing the cheers and the joyful music, seeing the relieved smiles on everyone's faces, Gwaine is glad for Merlin, happy that for once, things might be better than they were before. Still, as he watches the crowning of the new queen, he cannot help but brace for whatever misfortune will befall the newly married couple, knowing that Merlin will inevitably dive into the fray.

Placing a crown upon one's head in this kingdom is an invitation for misery. Or perhaps misery lies in taking on the Pendragon name.

First Ygraine, then Morgana...

He may hate the witch for what she made him do, but he pities her, too. She became so ensnared in thoughts of revenge for ancient offenses that she could no longer see that those she turned her back on still cared, still wished to share their love. Now she is utterly alone, nursing her hatred as one would the dregs of a cup of tea in the dead of winter.

Perhaps Gwen's peasant blood will help to break the gilded cycle that dooms the Pendragon women, will insulate her from the forces which constantly threaten those Camelot's kings hold dear. Gwaine refuses to hold his breath, knowing from bitter experience not to trust in hope.

If he is to be the only one standing with Merlin whilst the world falls apart, then he will do it gladly.

After all, he likes it better that way.

**Additional Notes: I should probably clarify something. When Gwaine refers to Morgana "taking on the Pendragon name," he simply means when she exposed herself as a Pendragon. He's not implying that she married either Uther or Arthur, since this piece is intended to explore Gwaine's thoughts during Guinevere's coronation within canon.**


	6. Life's too short

_Tension along the borders, dying crops, no hint of an heir, no idea where his sister might be hiding_. There's no lack for bad news, and a horrendous dearth of good. It's been a long day, and though he normally craves the feeling of a sword in his hand, the thought of traipsing off to the training grounds right about now makes him cringe. He glances around at the others in the council room and breathes a silent sigh of relief. No one has noticed their king's moment of discomfort. Except -

He closes his eyes in resignation. Of course Merlin would see. Of course he would _know_.

Although he and Merlin spend less time in each others' presence now that he and Guinevere are married, he still understands Arthur better than anyone else. Briefly, he considers beating a hasty retreat upon the conclusion of the meeting, but Arthur has never been one to shy away from confrontation, and he refuses to start now. His resolution keeps him in his seat long after the nobles pay their respects and depart, a pair of too-blue eyes observing him throughout the proceedings.

A good ten minutes pass before Arthur shifts uncomfortably and asks, "So is this the part where you say something ridiculous to take my mind off of things?"

"Normally? Yes." Well, at least he's _honest_. Arthur supposes there simply isn't a point in trying to lie to each other after being friends for so long. "But you've been even more humorless than usual, so I don't think that's going to work."

In spite of himself, Arthur's lips turn up at his friend's frank assessment. "All right, then. What do you, in your _infinite wisdom_, propose?"

Walking deliberately over to stand beside his king's chair, Merlin stares down at him with the barest hint of levity in his eyes and holds his arms open.

Jerking back involuntarily, Arthur watches his friend's arms as though they are a pair of serpents waiting to crush his ribs. "You cannot be serious. Do you remember the last time you tried to - to _hug me_?"

Merlin continues to stand there, patient and increasingly more amused, and though Arthur tries to fight it, to hold on to the clouds and the ill humor that have been hanging over him today - and why can't Merlin ever simply let him brood? - in the face of such well-intended goading, he is virtually powerless. He might feel more upset about this blatant manipulation, might worry more about his inability to control his responses to Merlin, but for the knowledge that his friend would do anything, be anything he needed, for Arthur's sake. So, rather than let his hackles rise and his suspicions flourish, he reaches up and snags his friend by the neck, dragging him down to his level and running a fist roughly - but not _too_ roughly, because Merlin may be stronger than he looks, but the man bruises like a _peach_- over the crown of his head, blithely ignoring the yelps and spluttered protests his actions evoke.

At last, he sets his captive free, and watches as he shakes himself - almost as a bird would in order to settle its ruffled feathers. Glaring, Merlin raises his eyebrows and tries to hide his smile - he fails, as Arthur knew he would - and asks, "Feeling better?"

He muses. "I don't know, Merlin. I may have to do that a few more times - so that it sticks, you know. Or you could bring your old training gear with us when we go to the practice fields, and you could let me knock you on your arse - what?" Merlin has this exasperated look on his face, but underneath it, Arthur can tell he's enormously pleased with himself.

"Six years later, and you're still the prat I met in the market."

"And you still can't talk to me like that." Except that he _can_, and he _does_, with pride and regularity. Arthur will feed himself to a pack of wildoren before admitting that he loves it.

"Oh really? What are you going to do, _Sire?_" He glances around at the otherwise empty hall and then looks back at Arthur. "There's no guards to drag me off to the dungeons, there's just you and me."

Arthur says nothing, merely rises from his chair with a vaguely predatory gleam in his eyes, and watches for the moment - yes, _there!_- that Merlin guesses his intentions and turns tail, laughing as he flees and glancing over his shoulder every once in awhile to see that his friend is still giving chase. He needn't bother - it is an unspoken truth that where one of them goes, the other will follow. Up ahead, Merlin erupts out of the castle doors and puts on a burst of speed. Arthur lowers his head, pushes his shoulders forward, and throws himself into the challenge.

Feet pounding against flagstones and sun beating down upon sweaty brow, Arthur lets go of the stress that has been plaguing him and simply revels in the joy of being alive.

As if sensing his capitulation, Merlin glances back again and catches his eyes, success written in every line and dimple on his face.

Arthur thanks him by tackling him to the reasonably pliant ground of the practice field. After all -

He was asking for it.

**This was written for the 12th prompt on Camelot_Drabble. The prompt was "Tease." I wrote this while listening to Young the Giant's _Cough Syrup_. I always listen to music that fits the mood of whatever I'm writing at the time, hence the title. I had originally been planning on writing another oneshot for my _Unstoppable Force_ 'verse, but the inspiration wasn't flowing, so I wrote this instead. One person on Camelot_Drabble told me it was overflowing with UST, which I found incredibly ironic, since this was actually meant to be read as gen. Apparently even when I try to stick to canon and keep the boys apart, they find ways to be together.**


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